


Badge

by ClumsyChicken



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cats, Developing Relationship, Dogs, Fluff, Horace Uses Sign Language, Kittens, M/M, Meet-Cute, POV First Person, Present Tense, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, dog bites
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-08-22 13:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8287996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClumsyChicken/pseuds/ClumsyChicken
Summary: Anri has just moved in and has yet to feel at home. A surprise encounter helps him along.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redredred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redredred/gifts).



   I readjust my grip on the potted plant in my hands. My fingers are getting sore and stiff at this point, despite the light weight of the little plant. I eye my blooming cactus once more with a careful smile. That and the kitchenware in my far heavier backpack are all that's left before my change of address is complete. With that on my mind, it's easier to bear that weight.

   My smile turns tight-lipped as I enter the apartment complex. The stuffy smell is still new to me. In time, it'll become as familiar as my old home, but that time has yet to arrive. The unfamiliarity reminds me with a sting that I'm an outsider here. I ought to remove my earphones and greet the place with a bright smile. But tight knots form in my stomach at the thought. The music has soothed me the entire trip, and I've almost made it back to my new apartment. Surely nobody is going to give me a hard time about being unapproachable right before the finish line.

   I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the journey up the stairs. In that instant, someone taps my shoulder. I jump in place and the knots in my stomach tighten and jitter, not unlike a schoolyard in disarray. I whip around to look at the person behind me, and I quickly find myself looking up to regard them. He's huge. His strong facial features are flanked by broad shoulders on top of what looks like a rather built physique. There's something familiar about him that I can't place. Pressing my plant against my chest with one hand, I wrestle one of the earphones out of my ear. During that process, he apologetically scratches the back of his head with his eyebrows pressed together. When Fever Ray is blasting into only one of my ears, I put on a wide smile.

   "Sorry! I didn't hear you at all," I say and giggle shrilly. It wasn't the confident laugh that I'd been hoping for, but perhaps that was a long shot. A crooked smile spreads across his face, which almost rubs off on my nervous one. It fades finally, when he, instead of speaking, starts signing to me.

   "Sorry about that," he says. "I only wanted to say that I like your—" He ends the sentence with a sign I do not recognize. I furrow my brows and scour my memory, but nothing pops out at me. He frowns slightly, pulls out his phone, and begins typing. I hold up a hand in front of me, which catches his attention.

   "No, no, it's okay, it's just been a while since I used sign language," I explain, and his features soften somewhat.

   "I just don't think I recognize that last sign, is all." With a smile that wrinkles the skin around his eyes, he starts signing again. This time it isn't words, but letters. Those I recognize without fault.

   "B-A-D-G-E," he signs. I stare at him with my mouth wide open until realization hits me like a brick. The button on my backpack. The huge button with the image of Finn and Poe holding hands on a background of pink hearts. My cheeks heat up as the smile returns to my face full-force.

   "Oh! Thanks. Thank you so much," I stutter, and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His bright smile only makes my cheeks warmer.

   "I got it at this big convention, like... a couple of months ago, I think. There was so much good stuff, but obviously it's only some of it that goes on a backpack. Or a jacket or something. And of course you can't necessarily buy all of it, even though you might want to," I babble. He crosses his arms while I talk. "I really tried to contain myself. But I did get the figures, too. The kind of big ones." I let my gaze drop as I say it. He exhales as a laugh.

   "So you like Star Wars too?" I ask. He nods enthusiastically.

   "Great!" Silence falls between us for a moment. The urge to pick at my nails is overwhelming, but it's excessively difficult to do so with a pot in my hands. I tuck away that same strand of hair again.

   "Sorry, I didn't even catch your name," I say.

   "H-O-R-A-C-E," he says. I nod frantically and reach my free hand towards him to shake his.

   "Hi! I'm Anri." We shake hands. His hand is warm, large, and a bit calloused.

   "Nice to meet you, Horace."

   "You too," he signs, as we let go. We smile at each other for what feels like a handful of very long seconds, before my gaze drops again.

   "I'll, uh, I'll see you later, then," I say. He nods and motions to turn around. But I just can't let him go.

   "Mmh, uh," I stammer, upon which he regards me again. My fingers cling desperately to my potted plant.

   "Maybe you could, uh, come over and watch it sometime. With me," I say. Now it's his turn to look at me dumbfounded. It makes my chest all fuzzy inside.

   "I'd like that," he says, after composing himself. I can barely contain my beaming.

   "Oh, great! I'm in 4B, so feel free to come over anytime. I—I just moved in, so," I say, letting my sentence trail off.

   "I know. I'm in 5C," he says. Then he purses his lips. "I mean, I know you're new. I didn't know about 4B." A laugh bubbles out of me. It feels like I haven't laughed like that in weeks. Laughed properly.

   "It's okay, I know what you meant." We smile at each other once more.

   "See you then, Horace," I say. He waves at me, and I carefully return the gesture. He exits the entry hall, and I stand by the staircase for a few moments. The knots in my stomach are gone. Instead, the sensation is replaced by something like fluttering butterflies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I wrote more - and Anri and Horace grow ever closer.

My Bloody Valentine soothes me on the way home. While I'm getting to know my still new surroundings, it's best if I don't overwhelm myself on every sensory front. Shutting out the audio side of things and replacing it with something familiar makes my heart beat calmly and my heavy eyelids seem manageable. On the other hand, I didn't mean to glue my eyes to my phone screen, but it happened nonetheless. The plan was to look open and inviting to other people, but that quickly went out the window. At least I'm relatively familiar with the route from the bus stop to my apartment at this point, and I probably won't miss my turn. Probably.

   I justify it by scrolling through the local community Facebook page. So far, the group has helped me recognize some people in the neighbourhood, and it brings a smile to my face every once in a while. I've yet to have the courage to chime in myself, but some day I'll get there. Currently there's another one of those warning posts about a local bald man who scams people. Then there's a picture of the sun, followed by another very similar picture. A piece of poetry by that woman who seems to wear nothing but black. Another slightly passive-aggressive message which has been beset by the same people who always hound these posts. One urges people to stay calm and stop arguing, another is just as passive-aggressive as the original poster, and one is obviously trolling and very good at making people respond to it. Then there's another picture of the sun.

   The song ends, and a seemingly distant sound penetrates my earphones in the silent interim. It's like a mix between a kissing and a clicking noise. Immediately, I get the sensation that my childhood dog is going to come running at the sound, fluffy fur bouncing wildly. Looking in the direction of the noise, my gaze is led down a small side-alley next to the laundromat. Someone is lying flat on their belly on the ground a few meters in. My heart skips a beat, before I realize that there's a calico cat in front of them. They're reaching out towards the cat, making kissing sounds at it. The cat simply stares at them. I take a few steps into the alley when a spark of recognition shoots from my brain and through my chest. It's not just any someone lying on the ground, desperately beckoning a cat. It's Horace.

   My mouth contorts into a sheepish smile. I slowly walk closer, keeping my distance so the cat doesn't run away. If I'm not careful, I'll burst into laughter.

   "That's not very Han Solo of you," I say, kneeling down behind him. He quickly turns his head to look at me. Instead of responding, he merely smiles. It's a bright, beaming smile that makes my stomach fuzzy and my grin all the more sheepish. He continues beckoning the cat that's slowly inching towards him. It keeps looking at me, but I have no idea how to communicate with cats. Eventually, it makes its way to his hand. He lets it sniff his fingers, after which it rubs its cheek against his hand. He sits up on his shins and the cat continues to rub itself against the rest of him.

   "So. Cats, is it?" I say, for a lack of something better. He looks at me with that warm, inviting gaze and gestures towards the cat. I press my eyebrows together and rub the nape of my neck.

   "Oh, I'm not sure if I should. Do you think it's okay? Would it mind?" I ask. He tilts his head from side to side.

   "Only one way to find out," he signs. I chew on my lower lip and inch closer. I scoot closer to Horace, stick my hand out towards the cat, and mimic the kissing noises he made. When the cat hears me and notices that I've moved closer, it folds its ears back, jumps off of Horace, and shies away from both of us. Horace seems just as startled. Right when he joins my coaxing chorus, the cat turns tail and runs into the alley where it presumably came from. Horace rests his hands on his bulky thighs with a small sigh, and I hunch over slightly.

   "Sorry about that. I'm not very good at cats," I say. He shrugs.

   "It's okay. It took a while before she came close to me as well. Some day she might take to you, too," he explains. I narrow my eyes at him with an impish smile.

   "So you do this often enough—you know, the whole lying on the ground, beckoning cats business—to know that she's shy?" I ask. He pouts and his cheeks turn a dark red hue.

   "Maybe," he says. I can't help but giggle at him. He exhales as a laugh, then rises to his feet and brushes the dirt off of himself.

   "Where are you headed?" he asks. I get up as well.

   "Oh, uh, I was just going home," I say.

   "Want me to walk with you?" he asks. I can tell that my cheeks, too, are heating up.

   "Yeah, sure," I say, unable to contain my smile. He returns it, and we walk back out of the alley. I clear my throat and point in the direction the cat ran while we can still see it.

   "Does she have an owner?" I ask. His expression sobers.

   "I don't know. Never met them, if she does. She has an ear—" He uses a word I don't know. "So she probably does, somewhere," he says.

   "An ear what?" I ask.

   "T-A-T-T-O-O," he spells.

   "Oh, I see. That makes sense. Then at least someone can find out who she is or who she belongs to, if nothing else," I say. He nods once. Now I know what my first community Facebook post could very well be about.

 

*

 

My eyelids feel heavy as lead. Walking the same route as yesterday, I can't wait to get home, throw myself on my couch, and take a long nap. My gut feeling perks up as I walk past the side-alley by the laundromat. I half expect to see Horace again, relaxing with the shy cat. Or perhaps a bunch of different cats. Several hundred cats.

   I narrow my eyes as I do see something in the alley. It's not Horace or the cat from yesterday. It takes a while for my sluggish brain to process what I'm seeing. The scampering shadow by the emergency staircase is a striped grey kitten. Half of my fatigue is immediately banished. Even my dog-loving self is attracted to the small baby animal. I inch closer and slip into the alley. As soon as it catches sight of me, it mews and scampers towards me. Its little legs don't seem entirely used to walking yet. I crouch down as it approaches me and reach my hands out. It scurries past them and all but climbs into my lap.

   My heart-rate quickens, but nevertheless I instinctively grab onto it with my hands. No way am I letting it fall off of me. But I press my lips together as the risk of getting scratched or bitten also increases. I take a good look around the alley. No mother cat in sight. Unhooking its claws from my jeans, I cradle the small creature in my arms and walk further into the alley. I look in every dumpster, search every stairwell, and even take a peek in some of the windows, while simply checking if they're open, of course. The poor thing is shaking in my arms. It's much colder than me, and it seems to look around helplessly alongside me.

   No matter how hard I look, I see no sign of any owner or any cat family. My breath stalls as I remember what Horace spelled out for me yesterday. I steel myself and gently pinch the tips of its ears between my fingers. First one ear, then the other. Neither seem to have an identification tattoo. The kitten looks up at me with enormous, brown eyes and mews loudly, exposing its tiny, pink tongue. I can't help but feel fuzzy inside. Stroking it behind one ear, I march back out the alley. My heart is hammering in my chest at the prospect of asking passers by if anyone knows its owner – or if anyone knows of a cat who must have given birth relatively recently. But I'll do it for the kitten. And if nothing turns up, I know exactly where to take it.

 

The kitten curiously looks at my hand as I knock on the door. My stomach tightens. If he's not home, I'm stuck with an unfamiliar kitten and no idea how to take care of it. I look down at it, and it looks back and forth between me, the door, and the rest of the 5th floor. I try to give it a reassuring smile, but I'm not sure it helps. I breathe a sigh of relief as I hear movement coming from inside 5C. The door opens, and Horace peeks out behind it. His face lights up when he sees me, which lights up my cheeks just as quickly. Then his gaze falls on the kitten in my arms. His eyes widen, his jaw drops, and he gasps loudly. I smile and shrug.

   "Yeah," I breathe. He looks between me and the kitten with those enormous eyes.

   "Who is this baby? Where did you get him?" he finally signs.

   "I found it in that alley where I found you yesterday, actually. I checked for an ear tattoo and everything, but there's nothing. No mom either. Cat or human," I explain with a frown. He presses his eyebrows together.

   "But he's so little. Too little to be alone," he says. The cat meows at him. He slowly blinks at it and lets it sniff his hand. Instead of sniffing, it licks him. His expression does the squealing for him.

   "May I?" he asks. I nod and carefully pass the kitten to him, as if it were a bundled baby. He smiles at it in a similar fashion. It seems more at peace in his embrace than in mine, unsurprisingly. He backs into his apartment and gestures for me to come inside. I hurry in and shut the door behind me. He marches into the cramped kitchen, and I follow. With the kitten in one arm, he clears the counters of all knives and sharp objects and puts the cat down on top. Then he turns to me.

   "He looks very young, but he can probably have fish. I have tuna somewhere," he signs, and rummages through in a cupboard. I keep a close eye on the cat in the meantime. Instead of running around and exploring as I'd have expected, it sticks close by Horace and watches his every move. So I open another cupboard and take out a small plate for the tuna. I remember where everything is stored in his kitchen about as well as I do in my own. He pulls open the can of tuna, whose smell spreads through the kitchen like a cloud, and puts some on the plate. The kitten immediately chows down and the sound of its mewing is replaced by soft chewing. We both regard it in silence for a while, before we look at each other, both of us with slight smiles on our faces.

   "He could have a C-H-I-P," he says, correctly assuming that I wouldn't know the last sign.

   "Oh, like an identification chip? Like a micro chip or something?" I ask. He nods.

   "So we could still find its owner," I continue.

   "Yes. We should take him to the vet to check," he says.

   "Yeah, of course. It was shaking when I found it, too. It could probably use a little health check-up as well," I say. He presses his lips together as I say it, and seems to shrink a little.

   "I'm glad you were there to take care of him." I quickly put my hand on my nape.

   "Yeah, me too. It's probably fine, though. I'm sure eating some food helps." He simply nods. Silence reigns while he stares at the hungry cat. He's totally transfixed by the little creature. If it was a puppy, I'd very much feel the same way. I sit on a cleared counter while it eats, and take a deep breath before I speak again.

   "If it doesn't have a chip and doesn't seem to have an owner, perhaps you could keep it?" I say. He immediately perks up at the suggestion. He gazes back and forth between me and the cat, cogs turning in his head. Then he nods.

   "I have the room in my budget," he signs, a smile emerging on his face once again. I can't help but return the expression.

   "Oh, that's perfect! Then I guess I might have just gifted you a kitten, Horace," I say, with a playful shrug. His smile turns utterly sheepish. He sidles towards me and wraps his powerful arms around me. My cheeks catch fire, I quickly return the gesture and feel his muscular back, and breathe in his scent. He pats my back, lets go, and leans against the counter next to me.

   "We should put up posters and such first," he says. I nod wildly and clear my throat.

   "Oh, yeah, of course. Duh. And I can ask around on the community Facebook page, see if anyone knows anything," I say. He nods with a determined pout.

   "Good idea. But what should we name him? In the meantime, that is," he asks. I tilt my head and look at the hungry kitten. It's almost finished its marine meal.

   "Are you even sure it's a 'he'?" I ask. Horace raises his brows and strokes his chin.

   "I can find out." The kitten is licking its plate clean as he crouches down behind it and stares at its rear. Its chubby tail is lifted high in the air, so he has a clear view.

   "I would say it's a male," he concludes.

   "Alright, fair enough," I say, exposing my palms. "I'm pretty bad at naming things, unfortunately. I got to name my last dog, so she got to be called 'Lollipop'." Horace smiles widely and laughs soundlessly.

   "That's cute," he says.

   "Pretty cute. Also pretty childish." He regards the kitten with narrow eyes, then points at me momentarily.

   "What about Grey Rat?" he says, though he amends the last words in a way I can't deduce. I furrow my brows at him.

   "Grey Rat? For a kitten?"

   "With an 'i'," he says. I blink multitudinously.

   "Grey Rit?" He laughs again.

   "G-R-E-I-R-A-T," he spells. Realization finally hits me.

   "Oh, I see! Huh. I like that. It's a bit weird, but that's a good thing, I think," I say. He cocks an eyebrow. Before I get a chance to process what he's doing, he leans in close and plants a kiss on my cheek. My breath stalls and my eyes widen.

   "Thanks for the kitten, Anri," he says, warm eyes making butterflies do somersaults in my stomach. I scratch the back of my head with a giggle.

   "Anytime. You're so welcome," I say. I'd happily bring him a whole litter if this is the reward I get. Greirat mews at us, and Horace refills his tuna plate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is time... for drama!!

The detective kicks in the door and storms into the apartment. It's dark and cramped. The suspected kidnapper could be anywhere, around every corner. My heart is in my throat, despite being slouched on the couch. She stalks through the shadows, peeking in every room. It's dead quiet besides her movements. In a corner, she comes across a strange collection of items. Upon further investigation, it looks distinctly like some sort of shrine. The puzzle pieces fall into place in my head with a tiny, soundless gasp. My brain finishes processing all the clues just as she pushes open the last door in the apartment. The kidnapped girl wasn't kidnapped at all. All along, she was—

   Someone knocks on my door. I nearly choke on my heart in my throat. Coughing wildly, I fiddle with the Netflix remote. I press just about every wrong button before finally pausing my show. I get my lungs and startled little heart under control while I walk to the door. Whoever interrupted my slouching is in for a world of pain. Unless it's my impulse purchase delivery. Or my two admirers. I pull open my front door, and the frown on my face is all but vanquished. Greirat stares up at me from Horace's embrace and mews when he sees me.

   "And hello to you too!" I say. Horace waves at me while holding the growing kitten. He has a huge, goofy grin on his face. I reach over and drag him into a hug. He rests his chin on my shoulder while I breathe in his warmth. We're cut short when Greirat squirms between us.

   "Sorry, buddy," I mutter, step aside, and let the two in. Horace inches inside, sits down on my couch, and puts Greirat on the pillow next to him. The kitten immediately jumps down onto the floor and trots off towards the small kitchen. Thank god I adopted away all my plants that were toxic to cats.

   "He's growing up so quickly, huh?" I say as I sit down next to Horace. Our thighs touch and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Horace nods and tries to catch a glimpse of the exploring cat.

   "Yes, and he's very curious right now. Every high point is a challenge and everything must be tasted," he signs and rolls his eyes demonstratively. I cringe.

   "Oh, yikes. Good thing I don't keep lilies anymore. It seems like yesterday he was scampering around like he could barely walk. Now he's much more, like... catlike, you know?" I say. He smirks knowingly.

   "Yep. They grow up so fast," he says, looking much like a very proud father.

   "Don't they. I remember from good ole Lollipop," I say. I'm about to continue when I notice that he's fidgeting with some papers in his lap. He brought them with him from his place, but I didn't think much of it until now.

   "What do you have there?" I ask, peeking over at them. He looks at me like an excited child who can't wait to tell me all about his favourite Pokémon. He hands the papers to me.

   "Read it," he says. I reach for my wire-frame glasses. I wet my lips, adjust their fit on my face, and he pokes my arm. I look back at him.

   "I inherited a house," he says with a huge, beaming smile. My eyes widen and my heart skips a beat. Electricity murmurs in my stomach. I open and close my mouth a few times, before furrowing my brows.

   "Dude, spoilers!" I say. He exhales as a laugh, and I giggle along. I quickly scan a page or two. Indeed, it's a house up near the mountains, quite a handful of miles away. Whoever he inherited it from doesn't share his last name.

   "I—my condolences?" I say, taking off my glasses. Horace simply shrugs.

   "I've never heard of this person before. I think she's a great-aunt," he explains.

   "You'd think a whole house would go to someone closer to her, wouldn't you?" I mutter. He nods wildly.

   "Right?! I'm guessing I'm the closest thing she had. Or maybe she just hated everyone else," he says and shrugs. I snort.

   "True, you never know." A tight, prickling sensation claws its way back into my stomach. My teeth dig into my lower lip, and Horace tilts his head at me. I attempt to smile, but it turns out rather tight-lipped.

   "But you won't have to, like—" I have to choose my words carefully. "Leave here, right?" His eyes widen and he waves his hands in front of him. The anxiety in my gut is already relieved.

   "No, no, don't worry. I'm not leaving you," he says with a bright smile. My cheeks heat up and I can barely keep my own smile under control.

   "Well! That's a relief," I say with an exaggerated tone of voice and a huge hand gesture. We both turn to stare in the direction of the kitchen, searching for the source of the sudden scratching and mewing noises. We look back and forth between the sounds and one another.

   "Don't worry, I baby-proofed all the bad drawers," I say. He snorts.

   "Thank you. It's like caring for a hyperactive 2-year-old," he says with slumped shoulders. I catch myself thinking that you wouldn't have all these issues with a dog, but I still remember Lollipop demolishing the spines of all the books on my lowest bookshelves. But Greirat is probably going to be a million times more agile than she ever was. If he gets a hold of my figures...

   I turn my attention back to Horace when he places his hands on his thighs.

   "Either way, I think I'll sell the house. If I'm lucky, it'll net me a decent sum of money," he says. Now it's my turn to tilt my head at him.

   "Uh, well, I'm glad you're not moving, but why sell it? Isn't that kind of a pity? Unless it's an awful, terrible, haunted house or something," I say. He chuckles soundlessly. The image of both of us living in the house pops into my mind. The house isn't haunted by ghosts, but instead by several cats and a few dogs. I quickly push the idea out of my mind to listen to him.

   "I just can't afford it. I had the room in my budget for Greirat, but not a whole second house," he says.

   "Oh, I see. That makes sense." He nods. "Still a pity though." He nods again with a crooked smile. A new idea pops into my head – a more immediately achievable one.

   "Are you off work this weekend?" I ask. He hesitates before answering.

   "Yes, I am. Why do you ask?" A goofy smile creeps across my face.

   "I'm off too, miraculously, so... why don't we try staying in that house for the weekend? As a little get-away for the two of us, before you sell it?" I say. His smile slowly grows in size, and the butterflies in my stomach flutter in sync.

   "That's not a bad idea at all," he says. "Maybe then we can make an appointment with a real estate person, too. Actually, I could really go for some time away. This is sort of perfect. I think it's pretty cold in that area, so you'll want to pack some warm clothes—" He gets to muse no more before I yelp. Looking down my leg, Greirat is scaling it with the help of his tiny claws. He crawls up onto my lap and mews at me several times.

   "Yeah, you'll come too, dummy. Jeez," I say.

 

*

 

I'm stirred out of the heavy darkness by something brushing against my cheek. I bat at it with my hand, but it turns out to be a lot bigger than I expected. Angling my head away from it, I force my eyes open. Without glasses or contacts, the world is blurry, and now it's heinously bright too. I look towards the animal assailant, though everything currently looks like an impressionist painting. As it turns out, it was no mere animal. Horace is looking at me with what is possibly a goofy smile. He awkwardly signs something at me with one hand on the steering wheel, but I can't tell what it is through the sleepy haze.

   "Sorry," I mumble. "I thought you were a big bug or something. I'd rather not have one of those on my face, you know." He shakes his head with a smile – that much I can tell. I rub my eyes while they readjust to the real world. Greirat is staring at me from the cat carrier at my feet. I'm guessing he stop meowing incessantly at some point, since I fell I asleep. As we stop at a red light, I put on my slightly smudged glasses and take a look at the world outside. I accidentally lock eyes with a driver in a large, dirty van. The grin they send me makes me sink into my seat and stare down at the kitten. Horace pokes my shoulder.

   "We're almost there," he signs, just before the light turns green. And indeed, the next exit turn is ours. It leads us down a small path flanked by pine trees on both sides. A thin layer of snow covers the road like icing sugar on a chocolate cake. Log houses are just barely visible through the trees. They're closer together and more numerous than I'd imagined. Finally, we make another turn at number 56. Horace's brand spanking new house. We pull in and it's every bit the log house dream I'd imagined. A big first floor with a large terrace and a small second floor with a little balcony. All of it perfect for enjoying mugs of hot cocoa.

   We step out of Horace's scrapheap car. I pull out Greirat's carrier, while he gets our luggage from the trunk. We wobble towards the front door, and he fumbles with the key in his pocket. He turns it in the lock and we cautiously step inside, as if we both expect to trip over a wire like in some half-baked spy movie. We stand by the door, breathing in the stuffy air. The furniture is all surprisingly classy. It looks like something that belongs in a much larger mansion. Does Horace have more rich family members that he doesn't know about? A tiny layer of dust covers most surfaces and a few cobwebs hang from the corners. Other than that, it's very well-kept.

   "Huh. It's a lot less dusty than I expected," I say with a smirk. Horace looks as me with a twinkle in his eye that I haven't seen before. Then he leans in and presses his lips to mine. Shivers run down my spine and electricity sparks in my stomach. His lips are so soft. A hint of the sweets we had earlier still clings to them. He pulls back much too quickly, puts the bags down, and stretches with his arms over his head.

   "Definitely. This was a really, really good idea you had, Anri," he says when his hands come back down. I grab his hand, pull him down, and kiss him right back. His copper fingers intertwine with my fawn digits. He smiles as we kiss deeper. Heat pools in my stomach, spreading throughout my entire body. It heals the chill in the tips of my toes. Greirat meows in discontentment from his cat carrier. Finally, it's me who pulls back and lets us part. I keep his hand in mine.

   "Oh, fine, you little menace. Let's get you out of there," I say, bend down, and open the hatch. Greirat shoots out like a tiny, fluffy cannonball.

 

*

 

I put my lips to the mug and take a sip of the still steaming hot cocoa. It's worth the intense heat. The whip cream makes it a perfectly smooth experience. The melting marshmallow adds an extra hint of sweetness. I sink into the lawn chair, burying my nose in my scarf, and disappear into my woollen blanket like a reverse butterfly. Snowflakes lazily descend onto the unkempt lawn one by one. It's already far snowier than it was yesterday. At least I'm safe here on the covered terrace.

   Horace takes a seat next to me. There's no whip cream in his mug, and the beverage looks a lot more like coffee. He's wearing several jackets, a big beanie, and thick gloves. He shivers and scoots a bit closer to me. He's far more bothered by the cold than I am – he spent all night quivering against me in the bed we share. Not that I mind, but I'm only one small person, and I can't keep him warm from head to toe, no matter how much I might want to.

   I'm about to comment on it when I notice Greirat's little furry face peeking out of the top of his jacket. He's fast asleep and purring a mile a minute. Living the dream.

   "Should I try to be quiet?" I whisper, nodding towards the kitten. He grins at me and puts the mug between his thick thighs to sign.

   "Yeah. Thankfully I'm automatically quiet, so I don't have to worry about that," he says with a wink. I snort.

   "That's true," I say, voice shaking with suppressed laughter. "You'd make an excellent assassin." Now it's his turn to snort inelegantly.

   "What?" he signs.

   "Yeah! 'Horace, the silent killer'. So very deadly, right until he barges into his target because he stumbled over his own feet," I say. He shakes his head, still flashing his pearly whites.

   "Great assassin on paper, but not actually worth the price. Not nearly enough one-liners, either," he says. I can't keep my chuckle down, but Greirat pays it no mind.

   "Oh come on, you can work on that. How do you sign 'hasta la vista, baby'?" I ask. He laughs silently, and Greirat squirms against his chest, still sleeping soundly.

   "Hasta la vista, baby," he signs, and imitates blowing smoke from his finger gun.

   "See, you'll make a fine clumsy movie star assassin," I say. He reaches over and ruffles my hair. It heats my body just as much as the cocoa. A low bark to my left draws my attention. The house next to Horace's is closer than I thought it would be. Through the sparse tree barrier, I see a blonde woman playing with a small dog. It looks like a bull-something from here. Perhaps a small Staffordshire. I can't get a good look at it.

   On that adjacent terrace sits a man, keeping an eye on the woman and the dog. He also has a mug in his hand, and, if I were to guess, I'd say it probably contains the same thing as Horace's, not mine. From here, I can tell that his hair is put up into a large bun. He either has a whole lot of hair, or it's simply very thick. My stomach churns when he turns to look at me instead of playtime. At least I think he's looking at me. He's gazing in my general direction. I jut my head towards him and narrow my eyes. His eyes narrow right back. Definitely looking at me. I sink further into my chair and stare out at the white lawn in front of me. It's less like a powdered donut now and more like a cake covered in white frosting.

   "We need to be careful with Greirat if the neighbour has a dog," I mutter. Horace nods, but he seems to have other things on his mind. He's gotten up, mug in hand and cat by his chest, and gingerly sets his foot down in the snow. It sinks in and disappears completely. His eyes widen and his jaw drops. He looks back and forth between me and his snow-covered foot like a startled puffer fish. I double over with quieted laughter.

   "It swallowed me whole! I didn't know it was that deep," he says, still wide-eyed.

   "I saw," I giggle. Then his expression changes. His gaze becomes intense and a sheepish smile sweeps across his face. Just when I'm about to question it, he shakes the snow off his boot, puts his mug down, and waltzes inside. I can't shake the feeling that I should hide under my chair. A dozen seconds later, he comes back out, zipping up his now cat-less jacket. Then he scoops up a big handful of snow off the terrace railing and shapes it into a ball. He sends me an utterly impish glance. Electricity shoots through my stomach and I wrestle my way out of the blanket.

   "Horace, no, wait! Not the blanket!" I say, shoot up, and throw it on the lawn chair. That same second, the snowball smashes into my shoulder, snow spraying everywhere. My breath stalls and I turn to look at him like a Terminator set to 'kill'.

   "Oh, you are in for it now, mister!" I say. His smile gets even goofier. I scoop up all the snow I can carry in my arms. Instead of making it into a ball, I run towards him. He gasps and jumps out onto the lawn. The fresh snow scatters around him and sticks to his pants. He immediately grasps at more snow, shaping it while running from me. But he's much too slow in the thick layer of snow. I quickly catch up to him. As soon as he turns around to aim his snowball, I throw the snow at him, rubbing it all over his chest and face. He loses balance and falls, but the cold frosting cushions his fall. I drop down on top of him, making sure not to knock the breath out of him.

   "Got you!" I whoop. He smears the snowball into my hair and I shriek. I grab handfuls of what's readily available on the ground and smush it right back. I rub it into his curls and he laughs underneath me.

   "Oh my god, it's so cold," he signs. I just smile at him, rubbing motions ebbing out. My stomach is getting fuzzier by the second. I lean in and place a kiss on his wide nose.

   "You're too freaking adorable," I say. A ruby hue spreads across his cheekbones. With a quick turn of his hip and torso, he flips me onto the snow. He rolls onto me and the tables have turned. My legs are itching to run, and I end up waving my arms and legs about, making snow angels while he stares me down. He snorts and starts laughing. His silent laugh is better than a million bucks. I keep making my angel with an exaggerated smile.

   "Is that your flight response? Make a snow angel?" he signs, hands bouncing with laughter. I start giggling along with him. A tear trickles out of the corner of one of my eyes. We sit close together, cold and laughing for what feels like forever. And forever is a good time. When he's finally calmed down and his chest has stopped bouncing, I lob the snow I'd gathered in my hand at him.

 

*

 

The chill has almost been wringed out of my bones. Took it long enough, too. It's only been an hour since I stopped quivering. Horace seems to have had the same experience. He brought his duvet to the couch and is reading his romance novel. The gold glow from the fireplace caresses his face. He's like a beacon of warmth. He keeps distracting me from my kahuna fight. I've accidentally let my Alolan Vulpix faint three times already. Greirat isn't helping either. He kneads his oversized cat bed with his tiny claws, stretches, and keeps sleeping. It's been a long day of playing in the snow, playing with his toys, and playing with my toes. And he does look cute sleeping in the middle of his bed like a stripe of butter on an enormous pancake.

   The fire crackles, and I realize that it's been reduced to mere embers. That might be enough for twilight, but as soon as it gets a smidgeon colder, our toes will freeze off in here. I close my 3DS, wrap my blanket around me, and motion to get up. I slump with a groan when I notice the firewood basket is empty. Horace looks up from his book and tucks it between his legs.

   "What's up?" he asks. I look at him with a huge pout.

   "The fire is dying and we have no more firewood in here," I moan. Horace nods, puts his book on the coffee table, and throws off his duvet with a shiver.

   "No, no, no, Horace, let me! I'm much better with the cold than you are," I say. He holds up a digit and waggles it with a smirk.

   "Your boots aren't dry. Mine are," he says. I open and close my mouth a few times.

   "I can just borrow your boots," I say. He scoffs.

   "They'd fit your feet like F-L-I-P-P-E-R-S," he says. I cock my eyebrow at him.

   "Flippers," I sign. The word was in the handbook I bought just one week ago. His smirk turns into a big, beaming smile. He simply nods at me while he puts his boots and a single jacket back on, beaming all the way out the door. I settle back in the couch and flip open my 3DS again. No more faintings now, Vulpix. I insist on getting her through this fight awake and well.

   After a few minutes the kahuna has only one pokemon left, and I'm noticing how much the darkness around me strains my eyes. Putting the handheld aside, I finally get up to turn on some of the old, dusty lamps. One lamps, two lamps, cat bed. It's empty now. The boisterous kitten must have moved to a better bed somewhere, or gone off to make more trouble. I look towards the darkness outside, hoping to catch Horace's silhouette in the window. My heart sinks and my stomach churns. The door is still open, cold air pouring into the living room. I immediately drop the blanket I have draped around me.

   "Greirat?" I call out. I repeat his name several times, ducking onto the floor to look under the couch, turning on all the lights in the living room. No sight of the little hairball. I rush outside, cold seeping through my socks, and gaze out over the snowy lawn. It's snowing heavily and the fog has rolled in. Beyond the terrace, I'd barely be able to see my hand in front of my face. Right at the foot of the terrace is a fresh little hole in the thick layer of snow. Perfectly Greirat-sized. And it's already filling up with new snow. Horace returns from the shed with firewood stacked in his arms. He tilts his head at me, asking the question without using his hands.

   "I think Greirat ran out into the snow," I say, voice breaking. I can't keep my head cool and I'm not even trying to. The colour drains from his undertone. He lets the firewood fall from his embrace and looks out over the snowy landscape as well. His eyes land on the exact same hole mine did. He covers his mouth with his hand, looks back at me with desperation written on his forehead, and steps out on the lawn, around the hole.

   "Greirat!" I shout again as I sink my feet into my cold, moist boots. "Here kitty, kitty! Greirat!" I step out alongside Horace and we fan out. As much as only two people can. The tiny cat trail quickly disappears within bumps in the landscape and the mess from our snowball fight. The last twilight has disappeared into dusk, and the shadows are unforgiving. Darkness, snow, and fog combine into an isolating gloom around me. I keep calling out his name, intervals growing longer between each call. Somewhere in the distance, Horace's clicking and kissing noises echo against the trees.

   All hints of light are long since gone when I finally trek back. The light from our house is all I have to guide me. The houses next to ours are all completely dark. It's only when I peek inside our living room to see if either of them have returned that I realize how much I'm freezing. The icy landscape surrounding us looks even darker when I have the lit house at my back.

   "Horace!" I shout. "Come home! It's getting dark!" I don't know how long I wait. Long enough to start jumping up and down and rubbing my arms and ribs to stay warm. Finally, I see his silhouette emerge from the snow. He's covered in white flecks and his eyes are wet.

   "There you are! I was starting to get—" I say, but he starts signing.

   "I can't even call his name," he says. It feels as though a knife jabs into my stomach. My lower lip quivers. I approach him as he steps onto the terrace and wrap my arms around him. His breathing is uneven and he's even colder than me.

   "I was loud enough for both of us, don't worry," I say, though my voice is mushy. I give him a tight squeeze and let go, only to see tears running down his cheeks. With a weak smile, I wipe them off his face with a stroke of my thumb.

   "Come on, let's get inside," I say and open the door.

   "He's still out there. All alone, probably freezing. He's so tiny," he says.

   "I know, I know, but there's no sense to _us_ freezing to death while looking for him. We can't see a thing out there right now," I say, while walking him inside.

   "Now," I mutter, rubbing my chin. "We should put his food and water outside, and an item he's familiar with."

   "His bed. And the fake mouse," Horace adds.

   "Right, exactly. I'm not actually sure if that's best for missing dogs, but it can't hurt, right? Now, if you do that, I'll get dressed properly, get a flashlight, and ask around. Nobody's home around us, I don't think, but I'll ask up and down the whole street. You never know. I'll keep an eye and an ear out for anyone coming home, too. Then you man the house, also with a flashlight, if we have that many, and see if maybe he comes home in the meantime," I explain. Horace nods wildly.

   "If he doesn't, I'll make posters before we have to go home tomorrow, okay?" He tries to keep nodding, but his face contorts with a sob and more tears start rolling. I reach up and place a kiss on his cheek, tightening every muscle in my torso as to not start weeping myself.

   "He'll come home."

 

*

 

I clench my toes, hoping to pump some heat back into them. I almost pull my legs up to my torso, before I shoot up. I'm still lying on the antique couch. My sight blurs from both a head rush, the first gentle rays of the waking sun, and my lack of glasses. I quickly scan the living room. No sign of Greirat, nor his bed. It must still be outside. Of course, I would've been awoken by either him or Horace had he returned home to us. My stomach sinks when I catch sight of Horace by the window. He's fast asleep in a dining chair, forehead pressed against the window glass. The window is all misty because of his breath and body heat.

   I run my hands down my face and put on my glasses. We have nothing to do but wait, and perhaps eat breakfast, before we go home. I already packed our things yesterday so Horace wouldn't have to. So we wouldn't have to worry about it today. We have other things to worry about. I swing my legs over the side of the couch and ever so slowly get up. My head is pounding and sensitive, and my eyes are horribly dry. I can't imagine what Horace must feel like when he wakes up. I inch my way towards him. Should I wake him up or should I make myself another cup of cocoa and go looking once more?

   The hairs on my neck stand on end when the unmistakable sounds of an engine and wheels on snow resound on the lawn. With my eyebrows furrowed, I peek outside again. It's even snowier than yesterday. The tyres of the big, white van on the lawn almost can't find traction. The engine stops, and I frantically tap Horace on the shoulder. He snores one loud snore and unsticks his forehead from the window. He stares at me like a mole seeing sunlight for the first time.

   "Someone's here, someone's out on the lawn!" I say, putting on my finally dry boots and my coat. He gets up and follows my lead, albeit more clumsily and sluggishly. I pull open the door and step outside, just as the driver opens the car door and steps out as well. I give the them the elevator look as I approach them. It's a bald man who seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He's wearing sunglasses and a big grin, alongside a Hawaiian shirt, swim trunks, and flip flops. No gloves, no woollen socks, no beanie, nothing. The closer I get, the harder his existence is to believe. Am I standing face to face with some sort of new cryptid?

   "Oi!" he says with a short wave. I nod at him.

   "Uh, hi." I'm about to ask who he is when he raises the sunglasses and wedges them on his head.

   "You lads were looking for a cat all night, weren't you? Or have I got the wrong house again?" he asks. My eyes widen and my heart rate quickens.

   "Yes! We were—" He holds up a digit with a click of his tongue.

   "Ah! Then you're in luck," he says and reaches back into the van. He procures, by the skin of his nape, one very familiar-looking striped grey kitten. I gasp and automatically reach out towards him, but the man puts him in his hand. Greirat meows unhappily. The sound is really more reminiscent of a  snarl. He sinks his claws and tiny teeth into the man's hand and he grimaces slightly.

   "Thank god, really, it's been doing that all night," he mutters. I hear Horace gasp behind me as well. I smile at this mysterious stranger.

   "Thank you so much, we've been out looking all night. This means the world, Mr...?" I inquire.

   "Call me Patches," he says.

   "Patches, again, thank you so much. Where did you find him?" He pouts.

   "It ran out in front of my van this morning. Damn near hit the little bugger. It's lucky I saw it and slammed the brakes, really," he explains. Next to me, Horace sighs deeply with his hand over his mouth. I think it's dawning on us both just how close a call this was.

   "Lucky I didn't get killed doing it, too," he mutters. I put my hands over my heart.

   "Thank you so much, really. It seems like we have you to thank for Greirat being alive at all," I say.

   "Sure do. It was ice cold and shivering, too. And yet it still didn't appreciate being dried and warmed with a towel." I roll my eyes with a smile.

   "Yeah, he's still bit of a rebel. We're trying to raise him well, but it's not easy, obviously," I say. He pouts again.

   "Is there a finder's fee of some sort?" he asks. I momentarily furrow my brows.

   "Uh, no, there isn't. Sorry."

   "I think there should be." My stomach quivers. My brain quickly cooks up terrible reasons why he'd say this, and I blink in an attempt to dismiss them.

   "Well, we don't really have anything to give. Unfortunately," I say and laugh hollowly. He gazes down at the kitten in his grasp.

   "I could just keep it. Teach it some manners," he muses. Shivers run down my spine. Horace clenches his fist. I feel the heat radiating off of him. It might be a matter of seconds before someone throws a punch.

   "No, Patches, sir, you can't just do that! This is _our_ cat, and I'm sorry there's no finder's fee, but you—you can't do that!" I babble. Both my hands and knees are shaking. Patches looks at me with a grin.

   "I can, actually. And quite easily, too. Should've thought of that before you decided to be scrooges," he says. I'm about to raise my voice, when another raised voice drowns out my thoughts. Furious barking to be more precise. And the sound is closing in. I tear my gaze away from Patches and Greirat and peek behind me. The dog from next door is flying across the snow like a professional skier, barking every step of the way. It closes in lightning fast. My body moves on its own and I leap in the opposite direction, pushing Horace along with me. Patches looks around his van to see what we're fleeing from. By then, it's already too late.

   "Princess no!" shouts a gruff voice where the dog came from. But Princess has already embedded her teeth in Patches' bare calf. She growls and snarls and Patches shrieks like a baby. His hands fly into the air and Greirat is flung off of him. Horace dashes forward and catches the kitten in his arms. He holds him tight and hides behind me. Patches swings his leg back and forth, left and right. Princess couldn't possibly care less.

   "Princess, stop! Come back here, right now!" the gruff voice says, much closer than last time. I look in its direction, and, unsurprisingly, it belongs to our neighbour. Surprisingly, he's much bigger than he looked from a distance. He's tall and very broad – a lot of muscle packed onto a large frame. He's even bigger than Horace. His curls are tighter and even thicker as well, though their texture looks strikingly similar. He's shooting daggers at all of us, dog included, and for a moment I have to suppress the urge to protect my face. Princess lets go immediately, runs back to him, and jumps into his arms. He catches her perfectly, as though they've done this hundreds of times before, and they probably have.

   "What the hell is going on here?" he asks. Patches keeps whining, so I take a step towards the enormous man with the still growling dog.

   "He was trying to steal our cat!" I say, jabbing a finger at Patches. The neighbour jerks his head back and glares at him.

   "What?!" he says.

   "Oh no, you and your mutt aren't getting away with this! Fucking unreal—" Patches shrieks.

   "I'll have you know that her pedigree—" I interrupt them both.

   "We were looking for our cat, Greirat, all night because he'd gotten lost, and then this—this—this lowlife found him and then tried to extort money from us for his return—to get our cat back," I explain, words pouring out of my mouth faster than my brain can keep up. The man sends Patches a glare that could stop hearts.

   "Oh, I see how it is. Princess never bares her teeth without reason. Seems like she had plenty," he states. Patches cowers under his glare, rubbing his injured calf.

   "I think she did a little more than bare her teeth," he whines.

   "Now, if I were you, I would remove myself from the premises. What she did to your leg will be nothing compared to what _I_ will do to your face if you don't get out of here," he says, petting the snarling dog in his arms. Patches doesn't waste a second. He shoots back into his van, slams the door behind him, and the engine coughs to life. I grab Horace's wrist and start backing up. If he so desired, he could easily floor it and flatten all of us. While we back up towards the house, our neighbour stands perfectly still in front of the revving van. Still petting his dog, he looks like a fearless Bond villain – but with a dog instead of a fluffy white cat and perhaps more of an anti-hero. Finally, Patches pulls away from our lawn, snow spraying from the wheels, and speeds off down the road. My knees feel like they're about to give out when I approach our unlikely saviour once again.

   "Holy shit," is all I manage to say. Horace laughs once behind me.

   "Who—I'm—Thank you, I guess, I mean, I never thought an aggressive dog would come in handy," I say. Thankfully, a shadow of a smile flashes across his face at my comment.

   "To who do I owe the thanks, mysterious stranger?" I ask, and he reaches a broad hand out towards me.

   "I'm Eygon," he says, and we shake hands. "And you?"

   "Oh, I'm Anri. And this is Horace," I say, gesturing towards him. Horace tears one hand away from stroking Greirat and waves. Eygon cocks an eyebrow at us.

   "Can't he introduce himself?" he asks. Horace's mouth opens and closes a few times, while my stomach quivers.

   "I'm Horace. I have aphonia, so speaking is kind of out of the question. I don't have my phone on me," he signs, still keeping Greirat in his arms with some trouble. Eygon smirks and shakes his head with a low chuckle.

   "The one time it's not beneficial to know Braille," he says. Horace and I raise our brows at the same time and look at each other.

   "Uh, he usually uses the text to speech function on his phone with people who don't know sign language, but I don't think any of us have our phones on us right now," I say, smiling apologetically. Eygon waves a hand at us.

   "It's fine. I'm glad you got your cat back, young man," he says. Horace nods enthusiastically and mouths 'thank you'.

   "Well, really, it's her you should be thanking," he groans, nods towards his dog, and rolls his eyes. Horace bends down to face Princess better and mouths the words again.

   "Is she okay with 'thank you' pets?" I ask. Even though she just had her teeth planted in another human, I'm still itching to scratch those ears. Eygon shrugs with a curl of his lip.

   "I'd say so. Let her sniff your hand first," he states. I tentatively reach my hand out towards Princess. She stretches her neck to place her wet nose on my hand and sniffs thoroughly. She just might be the world's ugliest French bulldog. A ghoulish little thing who looks like she belongs perched on a gothic cathedral somewhere. Eventually she gives me a short lick and blinks. Eygon smirks. My stomach tingles – it's like gaining the approval of a mafia boss and her right hand man. I pet her shoulder and scratch her neck, and she leans into my touch, definitely appreciating the scritches.

   "I never thought I'd be happy about a dog biting someone, but maybe with that one guy it's okay," I mumble.

   "Glad we're on the same page," Eygon says with a sigh. I take a step back and Princess looks at me like she's ready for a nap. Electricity still tingling in my stomach and through my whole body, I intertwine my fingers with Horace's yet again. He doesn't look at me when I do it. He only squeezes my hand, stroking Greirat with the other.

   "Eygon, again, thank you for your help. Even if it's sort of unconventional. I don't know what would've happened otherwise, so... thanks," I reiterate.

   "You're welcome. _Try_ to stay out of trouble," he says. We all nod at each other, and Horace and I walk back towards our house.

   "Eygon, is everything okay?" a feminine voice calls out from the neighbouring house.

   "Yes, Irina, everything's fine. We're coming back," Eygon responds and puts Princess down. "Come on, you little monster." They traverse the thick snow back to their house. Horace and I get inside, shut the door behind us, and breathe deep sighs of relief. Horace quickly nuzzles Greirat against his chest. For once, he doesn't meow in protest. He snuggles right back. I lean my head against his arm, but bends down and presses his lips to mine once more. It's a slow, gentle kiss that calms my frazzled nerves. We part and he sighs again.

   "I'm going to be late for work at this rate," I say.

   "I think 'someone nearly stole my cat' is a pretty good excuse," Horace says. I giggle quietly.

   "That's true." We kiss again, and this time Greirat mewls and squirms between us.


End file.
